


you put your arms around me (and I'm home)

by orphan_account



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Reunions, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	you put your arms around me (and I'm home)

You’re on a train, returning from a week-long conference, and you’re exhausted. As the train pulls into the station, you lug your suitcase behind you and start searching the crowds. He said he’d be here. He _promised_. And in all the time that you’ve known him, he’s never yet broken his promise to you. Having looked everywhere, or so you think, you start to make your way over to the cab-stand. Someone taps your shoulder and you whirl around to find yourself face-to-face with Tom Hiddleston, your boyfriend of six-months, three-weeks, and two-days (not that anyone’s counting).

“Welcome home, darling. Miss me?” he says in that seductively velvety-smooth voice of his.

“God, yes!” you exclaim, throwing down your suitcase and flinging your arms around his neck.

You press yourself as close to him as you can manage in an attempt to mold your body to his. God, how you’ve missed this contact: feeling his strong arms supporting you, wrapped in his warm embrace, safe and protected. You feel tears spring unbidden to your eyes, but you blink them back determinedly. You don’t want him to think you weak, after all, or that you’re dependent on him alone for your happiness.

Once you’re confident that you have your emotions relatively under control, you step back and take a good look at the man who, for whatever reason, chose you out of all the other women he could be dating. You’re surprised to find Tom’s eyes red-rimmed, as though he’s on the brink of crying himself. You step closer once more and raise a hand to cup his cheek. He turns his face away, only to press his lips to your palm. You feel your heart skip a beat and you smile widely at him.

“I love you,” you say softly, for his ears alone. You don’t want any passers-by to hear those three little words that are just between you and Tom. “Can we kiss now?”

“God, yes,” he murmurs before framing your face between his hands and lowering his lips to yours.

Again, you feel tears spring to your eyes, and this time you are unable to prevent a single teardrop from slipping down either cheek. Although Tom’s eyes are closed — as are yours, for that matter — he still manages to sense your distress and brushes his thumbs across your flushed cheeks, wiping away the wetness that has collected there.

When you finally break the kiss, gasping for air, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers, somewhat breathlessly, “I missed you, every single day, more than words can say. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried often at us being apart.”

“Me too,” you reply shakily. “God, Tom. . .” your voice trails off as you struggle to find the words to express how you’re feeling. “You mean everything to me, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Being apart this past week was _murder_. I cried myself to sleep at night and would hold my pillow to my chest, pretending it was you I was holding, instead. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I love you so much, Tom, that I can’t imagine life without you.”

Tom’s been silent for so long now, that you start to worry if maybe you were too frank, too upfront about your feelings. That’s a problem of yours that has scared off friends before. And you don’t want to lose Tom; you think you might actually die without him.

You’re just about ready to take it all back when you feel a finger beneath your chin, raising your head to meet a pair of cerulean-blue eyes that are overflowing with warmth, love, and affection. All of it for you, you realize. How did you ever get so lucky that the man other girls would sell their souls for the chance to even meet, and he chose to date plain, over-emotional you?

“Thank you for being so honest with me about your feelings,” he says gravely, and there’s still a tension coiling in the pit of your stomach. He hasn’t yet reciprocated, after all; he might still be planning to ditch you while he has the chance, now that he knows how attached you are to him. “I’m glad to hear you say that, for I feel exactly the same.”

His words take a moment to register, and then you’re grinning ear to ear. “Really?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he says, answering your grin with one of his own. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone ever before. I’m so glad to have met you and that you came into my life when you did.”

You can’t resist it anymore, and so you reach up, balancing on the tips of your toes, and drag his head down to yours to connect your lips. You kiss long and hard, tongues battling as you nip and lick at each other’s lips. Finally, by mutual consent, you pull away, panting hard. His eyes are darkened with lust, and you know what he’s going to say before the words have even left his mouth.

“Let’s go home,” he says, and you know he’s thinking of the bed that’s waiting for you, with the soft mattress and fluffy pillows. Not that you’ll be getting much sleep. And not that you’re complaining, even if you _are_ tired to the bone. Your exhaustion has long been forgotten in the wake of yours and Tom’s declarations. And while it’s not exactly a proposal of marriage, it’s still close enough for having only been dating almost seven-months.

Tom wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, and bends down to retrieve your discarded suitcase. Tugging it along behind him, Tom guides you through the busy station towards a waiting cab. You smile as he stores your luggage and then opens the door for you. Ever the gentleman, you think as you slide in, Tom following after. Reeling off the address of your shared flat to the driver, you lean your head on Tom’s shoulder, his arm still about your waist, and think that the trade-off for leaving was worth it if this was the kind of reception you would get for coming back.

Welcome home, indeed.


End file.
